


pumpkin

by leetheshark



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Babies, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Misguided Parenting Techniques, Mr. and Mrs. Sionis' A+ Parenting, Trans Male Character, ZsaszMask Week, references to murder, what else would you expect from them?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark
Summary: Epilogue toi’m just an animal (looking for a home). Victor and Roman play with Renoir.ZsaszMask Week Day 1.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i'm just an animal (looking for a home)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204519) by [leetheshark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark). 



> first day of zsaszmask week! so many thanks to [mashimero](https://twitter.com/mashimero) for organizing this 💕💕💕
> 
> also, i want to give a quick explanation for the baby’s name: renoir vox sionis-zsasz. i think roman would want to name his baby after an artist, but also after himself, so he chose one that started with an R. the V in vox is for victor. i wanted it to be gender neutral, and it also obviously had to be as pretentious as possible.

“Victor,” Roman says. He settles down on the living room couch in his pajamas and robe with a mug in his hands. “Darling. What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

The coffee table was moved out of the living room shortly after Renoir was born, having been deemed a toddling risk. That leaves plenty of space for playtime. Right now, Victor’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with the eight-month-old, who’s grasping at the handle of his pocketknife.

“Ren likes knives,” Victor says.

“Babies like everything. Find something else to play with.”

“It’s fine. Look.” Victor keeps a careful hand on the knife while Renoir plays and keeps the blade away from their skin. Roman watches, keen-eyed, and sips his coffee.

(It’s a cappuccino with pumpkin spice syrup. It’s the kind of thing Roman wouldn’t be caught dead ordering in a coffee shop, so it’s a good thing he and Victor have a cappuccino machine at home.)

“I’m not gonna let ‘em get hurt,” Victor says. “Besides, I want them to learn how to use it.”

Roman grins. “Yeah. That would be nice. Maybe I’ll give them your job when you get old.”

“Yeah.” Victor chuckles.

“Don’t tell me you want to teach them to cut themself too?”

“When they’re older, if they want.”

“Hmm.” Roman sips his coffee, then licks the foam off his upper lip. “Eighteen?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Renoir pulls at Victor’s fingers, trying to take the knife. “I think I’m gonna let them practice on me first.”

“Ew.” Roman wrinkles his nose, but laughs. “It would mess up your tally.”

Victor shrugs. A couple years ago, he might have cared more, but some things are more important.

Victor didn’t think much about raising Renoir until they were born. Until then, it was all about Roman. Now, Victor’s starting to understand why people love their kids so much.

(Not enough to keep him from killing people’s kids in front of them when the time calls for it, but hey—it’s his job.)

Renoir isn’t like other people. Victor looks into their eyes and sees a soul. Like Roman. It doesn’t hurt that their eyes are the same color as Roman’s. Victor’s father had blue eyes, so that must be why.

Renoir’s soul is a curious one. They’re crawling now, but they aren’t yet walking, and the long halls and cavernous rooms of the loft give them plenty to explore. They love Roman’s masks, and often, Victor holds them up to the masks in the living room to touch and examine them up close.

Renoir also likes to feel the scars on Victor’s face and arms. Most people are put off by Victor’s scars, like Victor wants them to be, but all Renoir understands is how they look, how they feel, and that they belong to Daddy. And maybe someday, when Renoir is older and capable of understanding what Victor’s scars represent, they’ll understand death the way only Victor does: as necessary and kind.

Renoir has a long way to go until then. For now, Victor is going to teach them everything he can.

“Renoir.” Roman sets his coffee mug on the floor and holds out his arms. “Baby. Come here.”

Renoir drops their eyes to the floor. After a few seconds, they grab again for Victor’s knife. Roman frowns.

“It’s okay,” Victor says. “You just gotta spend more time with ‘em.”

The thing about Roman—the thing that makes him hard to deal with but predictable—is that he wants everyone to love him no matter what, and he doesn’t care if people are only pretending because they’re afraid of him. But Renoir is too young to pretend, and Roman would never want to scare them.

Victor closes his pocketknife and puts it away. Renoir starts to cry, so Victor picks them up and holds them close to his chest. They calm down in seconds. Victor rises carefully to his feet and sits next to Roman on the couch.

“Hey,” Victor says, smiling.

Roman pecks him on the lips. “Hey.”

“Say hi to Daddy,” Victor coos at Renoir. He takes their tiny hand and waves up at Roman with it. “Wanna hold ‘em?”

Roman’s face falls. Victor can practically see the thought process churning in his head.

Victor’s been learning about Roman’s life, bit by bit. His life before the club, and his empire, and Victor. One night, when Renoir was four months old and their nanny was putting them to bed, Roman and Victor got high for the first time in over a year and Roman confessed that he’d been dropped on his head as a baby, by the doctor that delivered him. His parents kept it a secret, because they didn’t want the bad press. Roman didn’t find out until he overheard them arguing about it when he was six. It’s one of his first memories. He had seizures when he was a kid—it’s why he still doesn’t drive, even though it hasn’t happened in almost forty years—and even though his parents never let him ask about it, he thinks that was why.

Because of his seizures, his parents never let him hold a baby when he was young. Between that, and his own childhood as a reminder of what can happen if you fuck up, Roman’s terrified to hold Renoir. He won’t admit it, but Victor doesn’t need him to.

“You’ve done it before,” Victor says. Roman was hesitant all those times, too. “You’re not gonna drop ‘em. Even if something happens, I’m right here. I’m not gonna let ‘em get hurt. Okay?” Victor looks into Roman’s eyes and nods until Roman nods back.

“’Kay,” Roman says. Victor hands over the wiggling baby and plops them into Roman’s lap. He puts one hand on Roman’s shoulder and keeps the other on Renoir’s back, just until Roman wraps his arms securely around them.

“Hi, pumpkin,” Roman says. He bends down to press a kiss to the top of Renoir’s head.

“There you go.” Victor withdraws his hand from Renoir and slides the other down Roman’s back, rubbing soothingly the way he knows Roman likes. Roman smiles, like he’s proud of himself. He needs praise to function, and Victor’s happy to give it to him. “You’re doing such a good job,” Victor coos in Roman’s ear. “Ren’s lucky to have you. _I’m_ lucky to have you.”

“Mm.” Roman bounces Renoir in his lap. “Victor?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“You’re amazing,” Roman purrs. He pecks Victor’s lips once more while Renoir squeals in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by [jacket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacketarearmpants) 💙


End file.
